Age of Kings

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Prologue: Almara; Age of Kings

The figure stood at attention the webbing that acted as his faceplate moved rhythmically with his own breathing. His armor was covered in claws and hooks, to cut the throat of his enemies as he moves among them. A deadly shadow slicing through everything in its path. He stands at the edge of the mountain looking out over the darkness that has become his home.

You stand here like a king.

The figure turns to look at his companion, lying next to him. The voice was soothing and calm, almost as if the voice looked up to him, admired him. The figure shakes his head, he knew how truly pathetic he was compared to this companion, this beautiful creation besides him.

“More like a goat, continuously deafened by its own pride”.

The figure’s companion cocks it’s head slightly, taking in the very sight of the armored man. The companion rises up and spread its wings. Thousands of scales shimmered in the moonlight, reflecting as much wisdom as power. The greatest creature to ever walk amongst the earth lifted its head and stared down at the armored figure.

Remember that and death will not stare you so easily in the face.

The dragon, for dragon it was, slithered up so that its eyes remained level with the armored figures. For a long while the two stared at each other. The moon shines between them, highlighting their majestic darkness. The reptilian eye of the cold-blooded monster and the mesh that covered whoever lay beneath the armor.

Suddenly the dragon breathes upon the figure. Instead of a blast of fire, a cold wind came forth surrounding the armored figure and piercing his armor and digging into his soul. When the wind died down, the dragon was gone.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!”

The armored figure clutches the side of his helmet. A heartbeat, a heartbeat is heard in his head. With every pound of the heart, the webbing, which made up the figure’s helmet, begins pulsing. The pulsing intensified until it covered the figures screams. With a sudden snap the webbing on the figure’s helmet gives way, as if something forced its way through the membrane. And something did. The snout of a reptile. Not just a reptile, but a dragon.

Looking up into the sky, its eyes now red and bloodshot, the Dragonborn lets out a roar. Pain, anger, pride all grated like the winds of a sandstorm. Using his spear to stand up, the Dragonborn smiles upon the lands below him.

“My brothers and sisters will gather here. We will feast, we will prepare, for the end of times will come. The end of the ages are at hand! We are forgotten no longer”.